The Art of Knowing
by wazlib88
Summary: "But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he'd always thought it'd be Layla, somewhere down the line. Well, he hadn't always thought it outright, but subconsciously…yeah, it had been her almost as long as he'd known her. That's why he hadn't kissed her, after all. He'd wanted her to be around longer than one night." Originally written for Ollivander's Challenge.


A/N: Written for Ollivander's Challenge. Prompt -"Seamus Finnigan gets a weird letter over breakfast." Seamus/OC. Rated T+ for language and implied activities. I don't even know how this happened. Somehow, a bit of an idea escalated at an alarming rate, and I ended up with something resembling Almost Every Romantic Comedy Ever. I'm still sort of on the fence about the whole thing, but eventually, I decided to hell with it and went for it, because life's all about taking chances, right? Also, I have now written a cliché rom-com and I feel fulfilled as a fluff author. Special thanks to the wonderful diva-gonzo for encouraging me to put this up on here as well. :)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is J.K. Rowling's.

* * *

"Oi, Dean! What's the fancy-looking envelope about?" Seamus called, turning the offending object over in his hands as he took another large bite of his dry cereal.

"How should I know?" the exasperated voice of his flat-mate came from down the hallway. "Open it yourself!"

After pulling a face in Dean's general direction, Seamus once again directed his attention toward the envelope that had interrupted his typical morning routine. He tore it open slowly and pulled out an eye-catching card, adorned with print that could only be described as elegant.

"Dean!" Seamus called again, frowning as he read the words on the card. "Dean, did you know Ron and Hermione are getting married?"

"Oh yeah," Dean replied absentmindedly, coming into the kitchen while still doing up the last buttons on his shirt. "It was in the Prophet last month. That the invite, then?"

"Yeah," Seamus said, not taking his eyes off the card. "There's one for you, too."

"Cheers," Dean said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal and sitting down. "Alright, mate?"

"Yeah," Seamus repeated, shaking his head once as if to clear it. "It's just - they're a bit young, aren't they?"

Dean shrugged disinterestedly. "Dunno. They're made for each other though, aren't they?"

"You think?" Seamus asked doubtfully.

"Yeah. You didn't see 'em last year. Good on them, though, no sense in waiting if you already know, right?" Dean remarked, flicking his wand toward the refrigerator and summoning the milk.

"Right," Seamus said, though he was not even remotely convinced. What bloke in their right mind would want to settle down before he turned twenty? And what bird, for that matter? It didn't matter which way you turned it. Ron and Hermione were _mental_.

* * *

"You ready for lunch yet?"

Seamus turned around from the shelf he'd been stocking to greet the pretty blonde girl behind him. She was tapping her foot a bit impatiently and carelessly blowing a stray curl out of her eyes.

"Just about," he answered, setting the last of the Beater's clubs on the shelf. "There we are. Down the street we go."

Seamus had been spending his noon hours with Layla nearly every day since he'd started at Quality Quidditch Supplies. She worked just a few shops down the road at the Magical Menagerie, but she often spent her breaks in his shop, looking longingly at the latest models of brooms adorning the shelves and centerpieces. She loved to fly, that was the first thing he'd learned about her.

He hadn't known her at Hogwarts - she'd been in Hufflepuff, and a year ahead of him - but the moment they'd met, they'd hit it off. She was clever, hilarious, and pretty; really all he could have asked for in a girl. Naturally, he'd asked her out less than an hour after they met.

During their first date, however, everything had changed. Their conversation had flowed easily, she'd laughed at all his jokes, and she'd made him laugh right back. So, at the end of the night, Seamus didn't kiss her, because kissing led to fucking, and Seamus didn't fuck the girls he wanted to keep around.

They'd stayed friends after that incident. Well, that was an understatement. They'd become the best of friends, actually. They had lunch every week day, and they spent almost every weekend in each other's company. Dean would take the piss out of him for it, but Seamus didn't care. Layla was fun, and she was easy to talk to. She was really the only girl he'd ever met that he simply liked being around.

Even better, she didn't berate him for his dating philosophy, like most other women were wont to do - who was he hurting anyway, having a bit of fun? She was completely the opposite, in a nearly year-long relationship with a serious boyfriend, and he didn't tease her for that either. Their system worked flawlessly.

"Anything exciting happen to ya this morning?" Seamus asked as they tucked in to the usual, sitting, as they always did, no less than a table away from the place they'd first eaten lunch together.

"One strange fellow came in about his cat," Layla replied nonchalantly. "The thing nearly scratched his face off, and do you know why?"

"I know you'll tell me," Seamus said with a chuckle.

"He came in wearing a robe made of fucking cat fur," Layla said incredulously. "The poor thing was just trying to survive!"

Seamus roared with appreciative laughter. "You're kidding?"

"Nope," Layla swore. "Even better, I asked him where he'd got the thing, right? Got it because his brother-in-law told 'im women would like it."

"Not that barmy, is it? There are women that think fur's sharp," Seamus asked, bemused.

"When I say fucking cat fur, I mean fucking _orange_ cat fur," Layla enthused, gesturing around her wildly.

Seamus laughed again - more because of the motions she made with her hands than because of the story itself, if he was being honest. "It'd take a special kind of woman to appreciate that," he remarked.

"A bloody mental woman, more like," Layla retorted. "Not that his face was helping, you know. The poor bloke was probably taking any advice that came his way!"

"Oi," Seamus teased. "Looks aren't everything, you know."

"You just keep telling yourself that, dear," Layla quipped, raising an eyebrow and patting his hand consolingly.

Seamus barked with laughter. "Yeah, must be my ugly mug that draws women to me. At least I don't own a ginger cat suit!"

Layla joined in his laughter then, and they spent the rest of their lunch hour joking and teasing and having a good time, as they always did. She'd tell a particularly ridiculous story, and he'd snort into his drink. He'd use a funny one-liner, and she'd throw her head back in laughter, her entire face would light up with happiness, her curly blonde hair bouncing as she tried to catch her breath -

Shit.

He _knew._

* * *

As Seamus lay awake late that night, tossing and turning, he realized that he'd always known, on some level. Every time he dared to think about the future, she was always there, laughing with him. He couldn't picture himself without her there, really.

It wasn't just that they could have a good time together. He genuinely cared about her, more than he'd ever cared about anyone. She listened to him like no one else ever had, and he found that he didn't mind returning the favor one bit. Hell, he'd even sat with her while she cried once last year, when she'd had a huge fight with _Blake_. Fucking Blake.

He hadn't been jealous when she'd started going out with him. He was a nice enough bloke, most of the time. A bit of a prick when he wanted to be, yeah, but generally decent. And anyway, Seamus had more than his own fair share of dates. He went out with gorgeous girls all the time, and went home with them just as often. He never stayed around much longer than the morning after, it was true, but the girls were almost never looking for more anyway. It was the perfect arrangement, really.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it - he'd always thought it'd be Layla, somewhere down the line. Well, he hadn't always thought it outright, but subconsciously…yeah, it had been her almost as long as he'd known her. That's why he hadn't kissed her, after all. He'd wanted her to be around longer than one night.

But he was young. He wasn't ready for a real relationship, didn't even know what it entailed, but anything that happened with Layla would _have _to be long-term. Instead of trying to wrap his head around that idea, he'd continued fucking around. But he realized now that eventually, he'd figured she'd dump Blake, he'd get his head on straight, and they'd give it a go. Who else would he want to give something like that a go with, after all?

Yeah, he knew.

His mind worked its way back to what Dean had said earlier - if he knew, what was the point in waiting?

He groaned as he turned over and punched his pillow. Fucking dammit. He'd have to say something now, he knew he would. There was no way in hell he was sleeping tonight.

* * *

On Friday night, Seamus found himself sitting on the sofa in Layla's flat, waiting for her to come home. He didn't let himself ponder the idea that Blake would be staying the night. He didn't let himself ponder much of anything, really. As a result, he didn't have a clue what he would say when she finally got there, just that he was sure he had to say _something_. He'd downed a few shots before coming over, hoping it'd give him the courage to say something right, but the longer he sat there, the more likely it became that he would throw up all over her shoes instead.

It was just past nine when he heard the door creak open. "Good night!" Layla's voice called melodically to the tall bloke outside before shutting it behind her. "Oh, hi Seamus! Want a firewhiskey?" she said cheerfully when she noticed him on the sofa. It was a sign of the nature of their friendship that she didn't bat an eyelid at his presence: they'd exchanged keys long ago.

"Was that Blake?" Seamus asked distractedly.

"Yeah," Layla replied, a little sadly. "He's stuck on the weekend shift at the Ministry, so we had to call it a night. But it's not too late to play some Intoxicated Exploding Snap and have a laugh, don't you think?"

"You shouldn't be with him," Seamus interrupted her, standing up from the sofa abruptly.

"Excuse me?" Layla said, raising an eyebrow.

"He's a smarmy bastard, he is, and when he's not treating you like shit, he's annoying everyone in a hundred meter radius," Seamus continued, waving his arms around to emphasize his point.

"Oh, he is not," Layla dismissed with an eye roll. "He's sweet, you know. You just don't see that side of him since he isn't sleeping with you."

"I'm serious," Seamus insisted, valiantly ignoring the last part of her statement. "What're you doing with someone like him? He's a bore, and you're entirely the opposite!"

"You've never had a problem with him before," Layla insisted, a bit of anger coloring her voice now. "What's really the matter, Seamus?" she implored, looking at him the way she always did when she knew more than she wanted to let on.

He stood there for a moment, wondering how in Merlin's name he was supposed to say it and coming up empty-handed. After a moment of his gaping and gesturing, Layla sighed heavily and turned away.

"Oh, fuck it," Seamus muttered. He crossed the room in two strides and did what he should have done a year ago - he kissed her. Hard.

She stood there, frozen and unresponsive, for only a moment before responding in kind, giving him as good as he gave. Hands were _everywhere_, and his senses were running completely wild_._ How had he never done this before? He'd kissed plenty of girls in his day, but it had never been like _this._ A moan came from somewhere, but Seamus couldn't care less which one of them had done it. Maybe it was both.

Before he could really register what was happening or what it would mean, clothes were coming off and they were stumbling down the hallway toward the only room in the flat he'd never been in before. He didn't take the time to acquaint himself with the place, though, because as soon as they were through the door, he was literally _throwing_ her down on the bed, and she was pulling him down with her, and somehow they'd lost _all_ their clothes, and he was drowning, drowning, drowning in her…

* * *

He'd done it. Of all the stupid things he'd done, he'd finally done The Stupid Thing. He'd fucked his best friend.

It had been the best lay of his life, he reckoned, but that didn't really matter now. She was asleep, breathing evenly next to him, wrapped under the violet-colored bed sheets. Her blonde curls were splayed over the soft skin of her neck and back, and he was finding it difficult to resist the urge to run his fingers through it. Shaking his head violently, Seamus fixed his eyes on anything but her, searching for a distraction.

Now that the heat of passion had faded, he was at last able to take in her bedroom properly. The room was very _her._ It was a bit weird, but in a way that was sort of…cute, for lack of a better term. Trinkets from just about everywhere on Earth were scattered about the place, most noticeably a figurine of a clown on the bedside table. She'd told him about it when she'd got it; it was creepy as hell, and that's why she thought it was funny.

_Shit_, he had it bad for her.

And she had a boyfriend.

That sobering thought crossed his mind for the first time in awhile, and it changed everything. He couldn't stay. He couldn't do this. Hell, even if Blake were out of the picture, he didn't think he could do it. How was he supposed to manage an adult relationship? And with someone like _her?_ She was special. He couldn't lose her, but there was no way he wouldn't now.

So, he decided to do it on his own terms.

* * *

He hadn't seen her since he'd left her room that night. She hadn't noticed him slipping out of bed, and he'd been avoiding her ever since. He'd taken his lunches in the back room of the shop all week, alone with the nasty little spiders in the corner. But he couldn't face her now, there was no way. It had been the best night of his life, yet it had fucked everything up.

Then, on Thursday, everything changed again. She found him.

"You've been avoiding me," she said plainly as she burst her way into the back room of Quality Quidditch Supplies, blatantly ignoring the "Employees Only" sign on the door.

Seamus didn't know what to say, so he took another bite of his sandwich. "Been busy," he mumbled eventually, when she didn't fill the silence.

"No you haven't," she said irritably. He cringed; she almost never got properly angry, but when she did, she took no prisoners. "You don't want to talk about it, but of course not! You don't ever _talk_ the morning after, do you?"

"Of course, how silly of me. Sorry I didn't want to stick around and get beat up by your prick boyfriend!" Seamus shot back, reminding her of the reality of the situation. She had to know it wasn't the same; she knew him better than that.

"I broke up with Blake," she shouted as a retort, and it had the desired effect. His eyes shot up to hers.

"Why?" he asked immediately, not daring to believe he was hearing correctly.

Layla chuckled and rolled her eyes. "You _know_ why."

They fell together even easier than last time, kissing more fiercely and grabbing at each other everywhere they could reach. They didn't have the patience to get rid of their clothes; instead, they simply pushed the essential articles out of the way.

Seamus had never done it against a wall before, and it wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded. In fact, it was a bit sloppy, but he found he didn't care, because it was _Layla_, and she'd broken up with Blake, and he _knew_ why.

But after they finished and caught their breath, he fucked it all up again.

"What does this mean?" she asked quietly as they readjusted their clothing and wiped the sheen of sweat from their faces.

"You know what," Seamus said, but one glance at her face told him that wasn't good enough.

"What?" she insisted, her normally laughing mouth set in a straight line.

"You know," he repeated, fixing his gaze at a spot on the wall just to her left and trying not to picture her up against it as she'd been just moments before.

"You can't say it, can you?" she said in a small voice, the disappointment coming off her in waves.

She'd let him stammer only a minute before she turned and walked out the door, leaving him wondering what he'd done that had made him so bloody stupid.

He _knew._

So why couldn't he say it?

* * *

"What the hell is going on with you?"

"Come right in, then," Seamus greeted Dean as he barged into his bedroom.

"It's Saturday night, and you're sat in your bedroom feeling sorry for yourself," Dean said crossly. "Look, I don't want to talk about _feelings_ any more than you do, but what are you doing?"

"Can't a bloke stay in every now and then?" he said defensively.

"Seamus."

He was silent for a minute, but Dean did not budge. "Just tell me, would you? I've got a date in a bit, and I'm not leaving here til I'm assured you won't be doing anything stupid while I'm gone."

"I slept with Layla," Seamus said quickly, almost against his will - but his subconscious was no longer willing to keep it a secret.

Dean let out a low whistle. "And it didn't go well?"

"It went perfectly well," Seamus retorted, throwing a rude hand gesture in Dean's direction.

"So why isn't there a repeat performance tonight, then?" Dean asked.

"Because I'm a tit," Seamus answered vaguely.

"That's nothing new," Dean retorted. "Tell her how you feel, mate."

Seamus' head shot up immediately. "What are you on about?"

Dean laughed derisively. "Don't give me that. You've been mad about her for a year. You knew it was going to end up like this, didn't you?"

"Layla and I are not like Ron and Hermione, Dean," Seamus shot back testily. "Not everyone can just have a snog and decide it's high time to get married. I don't _know_ how to do any of this…romantic shite!"

"Why do you have to?" Dean asked exasperatedly. "The two of you were practically dating anyway, just without the sex. Now you've got that bit down, so what's the problem?"

"It's different and you know it," Seamus grumbled, rolling over so he was no longer facing the source of his aggravation.

"Just give it a go. Worst case scenario, you'll end up friends again," Dean advised shortly. Seamus did not respond. A moment later he heard the door shut, and he was once again left alone with his thoughts.

* * *

He didn't know what ultimately prompted him to take Dean's advice. It probably had something to do with how her blonde curls moved as though they had a life of their own, or with the way her face looked when she came. Or maybe it had something to do with the way his days felt incomplete if she wasn't there to make him laugh, or to listen when he had something serious to say. At any rate, Seamus had done something he'd never done before - he'd bought a dozen roses, all for a girl.

He had taken his time leaving for lunch that day, because every second that ticked by brought him closer to a resolution he wasn't sure he wanted. He figured that come noon, he was either going to get hexed, or he was going to end up in a relationship. Both were scary, but only one was miserable.

When at last his supervisor had nearly kicked him out of the shop, Seamus took a lap around the side streets to gather his nerves. He couldn't form a coherent thought to save his life, of course, so he hoped the flowers would say it all for him. When at last he realized his nerves were simply un-gatherable, he made his way toward the Magical Menagerie, trying to hold in bile as he walked.

When he at last reached the shop, he glanced in the window to see if she was still at the front desk. In retrospect, he wasn't sure whether the sight that greeted him was really surprising, or whether he'd been expecting it all along. Either way, he threw the roses in the nearest bin and stalked off, ready to spend another lunch hour in the back room, with nothing to distract him this time.

_Fucking Blake._

* * *

He almost didn't answer the knock on his door that night. He'd been perfectly content to stay on the sofa sulking and watching football highlights, but Dean, who was out on a second date with the girl from last weekend, had been expecting someone from work to drop by with a package of some sort, and had asked Seamus to make sure it got there. Only loyalty to his best mate caused him to drag himself up to get the door. However, he made the grave mistake of not checking who it was before he answered.

She looked as pretty as ever, though he noted there were slight bags under her eyes. Her hair was drawn back from her face, which accentuated her lovely cheekbones and her brilliantly blue eyes. He might have kissed her, if things hadn't been how they were.

He waited for her to begin shouting at him, for he could think of no other reason why she'd come. But as always, she proved him wrong. Without speaking a word, she raised an eyebrow and pulled out a bouquet of roses, which looked quite like they'd spent some time lying in a bin of rubbish.

"How's Blake?" Seamus managed to croak once he'd found his voice.

"I'm sure the slap I gave him yesterday's healed by now," Layla replied coolly.

"What did he do?" Seamus asked immediately, looking around behind her as if the coward were lurking in the shadows. It didn't matter how things were between them; if the bastard had hurt her, he'd have to deck him.

"Just wouldn't leave me alone," she said vaguely.

"So why are you here, then, if you want to be alone?" Seamus asked bitterly.

Layla sighed. "I don't. I just don't want to be with him."

Seamus was silent, glancing down at his shoes. He noticed for the first time how very different their feet were - hers were petite and thin, and his were long and a little misshapen.

"Look," Layla said suddenly, shuddering a little - awkward silences had always bothered her, another idiosyncrasy he shouldn't have found adorable but inevitably did. "The bottom line is that you're my best mate, and I miss you, but I'm not like you when it comes to these sorts of things. What happened doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to, but if it doesn't, then you know it can't happen again."

Seamus refused to look up from their feet as he searched hopelessly for an answer that wasn't there. "I don't know what to do," he admitted slowly.

"That's not helpful," Layla spat, stomping her foot stubbornly. "Make up your mind, will you?"

"I can't bloody well make up my mind!" Seamus shouted incredulously. "You're my best friend, you know, and I want it to stay that way. But I also want to shag you senseless every time I see you, and I think I may very well be in love with you on top of it! So there's no way in hell I can make up my mind, Layla."

"Well, it's not like those things are mutually exclusive," she pointed out quietly, her eyes wide as she visibly processed what he'd said.

"How?" he asked desperately. "I haven't got a clue how to put those things together!"

"As if I know how?" she retorted, a bit of the fire returning to her voice.

"You're the one that does relationships," Seamus pointed out. "Don't expect me to know what to do!"

"Yeah, I've done relationships, but it'd be different with us!" Layla cried, wringing her hands as she always did when she was frustrated.

"Of course it would!" Seamus agreed vehemently. "Blimey, where would we even start?"

"Anywhere!" Layla replied wildly. "This shouldn't be hard, you know! We already know each other, we've already shagged, we've already decided we're in love with one another-"

"You're in love with me?" Seamus cut in, reaching out to touch her arm lightly.

"Of course I am, don't be daft" Layla dismissed, scowling.

Seamus leaned in and kissed her then, and the feeling of her soft lips on his making him feel as though all his senses were on fire. But she pulled back almost as soon as it had begun, a frown still etched across her features.

"This is what happened last time," she accused. "We can't just do _this_ every time we don't want to have a real conversation." She looked at him expectantly then, and he considered it a small miracle that he didn't cower under her gaze.

Realizing the importance of the moment, Seamus took a deep breath and cleared his mind as best he could. He looked straight into her eyes for the first time since their conversation had begun; her attempts at patience were clearly wearing thin, so he said the first coherent thing that came to mind: "Knowing and doing are two different things, Layla, and it took me ages to figure out the knowing part. I just…I still don't know what I'm doing, okay? But I want to try."

She looked at him for a long moment, and it took all the willpower in his body not to wither away to nothing during the silence. Finally, after he'd nearly gone mad from the tension of it all, she spoke, in a low but clear voice.

"So do I."

Clearing his dry throat and blinking dazedly, Seamus took a step backward into the flat. "Well, first things first. Why don't you come in?"

Seamus Finnigan was never going to be the type of bloke that got married before he turned twenty, and he had _thought _that he was never going to be the type of person that considered knowing something to be sufficient preparation for acting on it. But really, it wasn't as mental as he'd originally thought, during that moment two weeks ago when he'd received the letter that had inadvertantly thrown his entire life into a tailspin. In the end, he simply _knew_ the girl standing outside the entryway to his flat was someone special, someone he'd always want around. And as she stepped over the threshold, he was pleased to say that they were finally going to do something about it.


End file.
